~ ~ ~
V
The First Weekend
We are constrained or condemned to confess…
Power never ceases its interrogation, its inquisition.
Michel Foucault
Kate stood at the kitchen door.
"What's our plan of action?"
"First, I finish my coffee; then you shower, then I shower. Then lunch."
"Uh, Charlie, a little seriousness here? There're things we need to get, we're out of bread and other stuff, I really need a new bathrobe, I have to get cash for the week, and most important, I've almost finished my mystery and have to get another. As for lunch, where?"
"We haven't been to La Casa for a couple of weeks."
"Good; I'm going to shower."
When Kate finished, Charlie gave the water-heater a chance to recover and went to the phone.
"Yeah?"
"Theresa, ever try 'Good Morning' or maybe just plain 'Hello' instead of barking at your caller?"
Theresa Bartolini was a tall, almost gangly woman somewhere over thirty and under fifty; it was hard to tell. She had a permanent grin that was rather at odds with her brusque way of speaking. She and Charlie had very different interests, often disagreed on departmental matters, but still managed to get on well. One of Theresa's achievements was an enviable closeness to students. She also had an uncanny ability to know what was going on in the department while spending the minimum possible time there.
"Two things; first, you still owe me a jar of your pesto for my sorting out your computer; second, heard anything new about Barrett?"
"Charlie, are you playing detective?"
"No, no… Kate's been after me about that, so save your breath. It's just that having avoided him all this time I now realize that I know damn all about him, and I'm curious, not just as to who shot him, but why."
"I know what you mean. I didn't know a lot about him either. I met Janet Milford, his partner, or rather ex-partner. She seemed nice and is very attractive. I couldn't figure them together. Well, it didn't last. I think they lived in that apartment on the water for less than three years. Then all of a sudden, he gets a big house out of town and she moves out and buys a house in Coulton. I know a guy that lives in the same apartment building and knew Janet from the laundry-room. He said he thought they'd had a real row before she left. Said he found her crying while her stuff was in the dryer."
"Coulton? Why would she go there?"
Coulton was not so much a town as a village of about fifteen-hundred people whose homes were clustered around two churches, a couple of diners, the inevitable strip-mall, and a bunch of antique shops for the tourists. Coulton didn't even boast a movie theater because of its proximity to Kingsford, and the so-called town hall was a drab little house adjacent to a church. It was inland, lacking a lake view, but only a fifteen-to-twenty minute drive from Kingsford. Its main attraction was low house-prices. Students found cheap accommodations in the rooms a number of widows rented out. The presence of the widows, many of them widows of professors from Meredith, was due to how a house could be had in Coulton for less than half of what it would cost in Kingsford. Another attraction, for the students, was that the diners competed to serve humongous breakfasts for a magically attractive $2.99.
"Same reason others do; I don't think she had a lot of money. She has a job in the City Planner's office, here, but I think she mostly coasted on Barrett's income while they were together. She probably saved enough to buy a house down there to give herself a little security."
"What about others Barrett saw outside the department? You know about that stuff; ever hear about his friends?"
"You really think Barrett had friends? No, that's not fair. I did see him with a couple of people in a couple of lounges downtown. One was a younger, tough-looking guy that dressed pretty casually. The other was a woman, also younger than Barrett. She looked well-off, going by her clothes, and had great looking blond hair, all done up in a French twist. Saw them at the Dog."
The Black Dog was a bar that called itself a lounge and was owned by an ex-mayor of Kingsford. It had good food at reasonable prices, though nothing more complicated than Reuben sandwiches and nacho platters. It was popular with Meredith faculty.
"Do you know any students he was particularly close to?"
"Ah, let's see. I saw him around campus with Rich Dalton several times, but Barrett is, er, was supervising him, so they weren't necessarily friends. Dalton's a bit older; I think he was in the army before starting his program."
"Dalton was in the army?"
"Yes; he went from university straight into the army, then signed up to do an M.A. when he got out. I heard that from a woman I know in the grad school admin; she told me over coffee that Dalton had an impressive military record and she couldn't figure why he wanted to do philosophy."
Charlie heard Kate bustling about. He thanked Theresa and said he had to go, that he'd talk to her later.
After some shopping, they went to La Casa. It served what Charlie thought of as "faux tex-mex," which was a long way from Mexican food. However, the sous-chef, a former student of Charlie's and himself Salvadorian, was always happy to do something special for him and Kate. The chef, who was actually Greek, never worked Saturdays, which was why Charlie and Kate were regulars there for Saturday lunch. Today, Jane, a waiter Charlie and Kate knew nearly as well as Derek at Sandoval's, told them that the sous-chef would make green tamales for them. Both ordered the tamales and had a bottle of a Chilean generic red Charlie had discovered years before and which was surprisingly good for the price.
After a pleasant lunch, Kate decided to have a DVD binge and Charlie took a nap. Dinner was light, given the size of the green tamales at lunch, and after they both picked up their respective mysteries.
Sunday was overcast. Charlie woke up late, despite the previous day's nap, and scruffed around until noon. He did the New York Times acrostic, which he got from the web. It was almost one when he showered. Kate hadn't gotten up until almost eleven, and was still drinking coffee and reading the Sunday edition of the Times-Standard. In the shower Charlie decided to go into the department on the off-chance that Barrett's office might have been left unlocked. He was sure no one would be there on a Sunday afternoon. He'd go on his way to getting Thai take-out for a very late lunch.
The department was deserted. Barrett's door no longer had crime-scene tape on it, though Charlie could see the odd patch of adhesive where the tape had been. Obviously the cops had finished with the office. Wishing he had a master key Charlie tried the knob and was delighted to find the door unlocked. As he'd hardly dared hoped, the cops must have unlocked it and unfamiliar with the department locks, just closed the door and not relocked it. Charlie wasted no time slipping into the office.
Just as in books and movies, most of the surfaces had obvious traces of fingerprint powder; drawers in the desk had been left open; the cupboard was open. The desk drawers held the usual odds and ends: pencils, note-pads, papers, a filthy coffee-mug. One drawer, the sort that has bars to hang files from, was empty. Perhaps the cops had taken some files. The cupboard held a pair of snow-boots, a winter coat, and a rather nice looking cardigan; nothing more. Barrett's monitor and printer perched on a small filing-cabinet, but no computer was in sight. Clearly the cops had been interested in whatever was on Barrett's hard-drive. Wall-mounted shelves held Barrett's books. Someone had obviously checked behind the books because many were down on their spines. The small filing cabinet had two drawers but only the top one held files. They were clearly labeled and pertained to Barrett's courses. Charlie looked through a couple or three at random. They each contained reading lists and notes, records of registrants, and copies of departmental grade-sheets. There was no file labeled "Hot Clues" and Charlie began to think his luck in finding the door unlocked was something less than that. He'd called in his order to the Thai place, and he had some twenty minutes to pick it up and get home before Kate would be suspicious.
Something
about the files made Charlie pause. He then realized that one had a course number that didn't exist. The label read "Philos. 110," but Barrett never taught introductory courses and in any case there were only four: Philosophy 100 through 104. The folder held a single sheet of paper that appeared to be a reading list that puzzled Charlie because the books on it were a very odd assortment of classics in various areas, only one really having to do with philosophy. Eight books were listed: Thomas Aquinas' Summa Theologica; Cicero's De Oratore; Dante's Divina Commedia; Dioscorides' De materia medica; Erasmus' Adagiorum chiliades; Seneca's Opera, edited by Desiderius; Sun-tzu's The Art of War; and von Clausewitz' Principles of War. What course might Barrett give that would include a first-century CE treatment of medical questions and a sixth-century BCE treatment of military tactics? Strange, but Charlie was out of time; this would have to wait.
That night Charlie puzzled over the course-folder as he lay in bed. He'd not mentioned anything to Kate; his sleuthing was going to have to be done discreetly. He should have been thinking about the course he might or might not be starting the next day, but he never got beyond Barrett's "Philos. 110" before dropping off.